Page 64 of A Fighting Chance

She smiles again, this time wider.

“Thank you,” I say, and her hand pats mine in response. Sometimes I’m pretty sure she’s a better big sister than I am.

She leaves me then, silently exiting the cabin to head back toward the main house. I watch her through the window for a few minutes, her long blonde locks flowing in the breeze.

I put the glass cleaner away and walk upstairs. Harper’s packed up everything, all of which has been put in the outside storage shed except for her clothes, which she took. She still isn’t sure if she wants to live here. So, for the time being, she isn’t. That means the cabin is completely empty. Almost all the furniture is gone besides a few stray pieces that still need to be handled, but nothing major.

I reach for my phone in my back pocket and scroll for Gentry.

Me:Can you come help me at Harper’s for a bit?

Gentry:Sure. Be there in a few.

This has been his standard lately. Short on words and a lot of using the wordsure, which is partially why it’s been so difficult to accuse him of anything. He’s being polite, even helpful still. We still sleep in bed together, we just…don’t have sex. And I don’t want to be one of those women who beg for it or seem crazy when we just…don’t.

I look out the bedroom window and see Gentry pulling up in his truck. He gets out and smooths his hair, messing with it for a moment. Then he starts walking toward the porch and looks up. I wave for him and he walks inside. In the process, I hear the door open and close downstairs. I hear his boots on the stairs and down the hall. Then I hear him stop in the doorway behind me. I’m still looking out the window and I know he’s probably confused.

As I turn to him, I start unbuttoning my shirt at the top.

“What’s going on?” he asks.

“I need your help,” I say.

He looks around the empty room. “With what?”

“With this,” I say, as I open my shirt, revealing my bra and torso.

He pinches his eyes shut. “Lyla, I was working,” he says, and his voice is serious.

“You can spare some time for me, can’t you?” I ask, letting my shirt drop to the floor.

He clears his throat. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” I ask, slipping my thumbs into the top of my pants and pushing them down.

“Undress. Stop undressing,” he says.

“You don’t like it?” I ask, reaching back to unclasp my bra before I let it join the rest of my clothing on the floor.

“You know that’s not it,” he says.

“Then what is it?” I ask, hooking my thumbs into my panties and pushing them down. They fall into the pile and I step back toward the window, leaning against it.

He presses his eyes shut again. “Don’t do that,” he says. “Don’t make that face.”

I part my lips and nibble on the end of my finger. “Look at me,” I tell him.

He clenches his hands into fists but opens his eyes. I hear his exhale from all the way across the room.

I slide my feet across the floor, parting my legs a bit. The sun streaks into the window, casting my shadow onto the floor.

“What do you want from me?” he asks, his question loaded.

“I want you to come here,” I say.

He steps into the room, hesitation all over his face, still keeping his distance.

“You don’t want to help?” I ask, trailing my finger down my chin and to my breasts. I draw delicate circles around my nipples.